I’m not a city person. I hate shopping – unless it’s online – because the whole process simply equals stress. Not only can I never find the clothes/shoes/car-scratch-repair-kit/ingredients that I want (incidentally, this weekend I FINALLY got a pair of XL jeans that fit my UK size 10 waist), but I also end up going about this most hated of tasks during the weekend, when everyone and their pregnant sister is out in force with at least six kids to every one adult and several buggies, each large enough to house a small family.

I’ve got nothing against people wanting to procreate – I hear that children can be pleasant – but I don’t think the fact that someone has managed to reproduce gives them the right to populate an entire supermarket with push-chairs full of kids who are way too old to be sitting in them – kids who are screaming because they want to get out and walk. Sure, that would mean more children running all over the shop, but at least then I could actually push my trolley down the aisles without having to politely excuse myself to every ‘new’ mother who stops to chat about her darling son.

“He’s eighteen years now, we’re going to have to get him a bigger pram soon.”

“Oh yes. Well, Becky’s coming up for two decades so we’re trying to get her walking by herself now… You can have her old buggy if you like?”

BAH! I’ve no issues with actual babies in prams, but Waitrose this weekend was ridiculous. One of the children – and I kid you not – was reading.

…But this is a side rant… I was actually going to talk about ‘losing’ my car keys…

As I said to begin with, I hate cities, but for ease of parking, whenever we head into town, we take my teeny-tiny car (hence the need for scratch-repair-kits). S- usually drives, but since I stay in the house the rest of the week and only really get behind the wheel on a Tuesday evening, I decided I should take us in.

Which I managed, without any moronic instances. So, we continued on our way – failing to get both the camera and the wedding present we went into town for in the first place. Back at the car I paid the machine and went to get my keys out… only they weren’t there. Luckily, S- carries a spare so it wasn’t like we were stuck, but my house keys were on the fob too and I didn’t like the thought of someone I don’t know with a key to my car. I asked at the car-park information desk and left my details then began retracing my steps back to the car.

I hadn’t taken anything out of my bag in town – opening it only as we left the car or so I thought. But search the concrete of the car-park as I might, my keys remained hidden. Slowly, we made our way back to the car. S- would be driving.

I opened the door to get into the passenger seat and paused. S- had gone to top up the money on the ticket so hadn’t unlocked the vehicle. And besides, the remote central locking is faulty at best, so normally I have to open the passenger door manually from the inside. As I’d done that morning.

My head turned in slow motion to look at the driver’s seat. And there, shining in the ignition – of all places – were the keys.

Needless to say, I felt like a total fool.

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